My insides dance with happiness as I put my hand over his, interlacing our fingers. “Aww, swoon!”
He laughs and kisses the side of my neck. “You look gorgeous. Wear that outfit.”
I smile gratefully and turn my attention back to myself in the mirror. Black bell-style skirt and a fitted pale blue short-sleeved top. “Sure?” I purse my lips in consideration.
“Sure,” he confirms, kissing my cheek before turning and walking back to the bed, riffling through his overnight bag.
He pulls out his aftershave and squirts a little on. My senses tingle with happiness as the smell wafts around me. I love it.
As he pulls a clean black shirt from a hanger and slips it on, buttoning it up, covering up his body so I can no longer sneak pervy glances at him in the mirror, he says, “You know, this whole packing-a-bag thing is getting a little tedious. I keep carting stuff over here all the time. I was thinking, maybe I should just leave some spare stuff here. What do you think?” He doesn’t look at me as he says it, and I glance at the back of his head in the mirror, frowning in confusion.
“Spare stuff?” I hang my rejected shirt back in my wardrobe.
“Toothbrush, deodorant, a change of clothes or two …”
Holy shit. My mouth drops open in shock as I realise what he’s talking about. He wants a drawer. A drawer in my place because he sees himself continuing to stay here often in the future. We are about to cross into the spare-toothbrush stage in our relationship. I want to fist pump the air in celebration, but I force myself to remain nonchalant as I shrug, pretending it’s no big deal and that he hasn’t just made my entire life.
“Sure, whatever you want.”
He looks over his shoulder at me, his posture loosening a little as he smiles. “Yeah? Great. You can leave some stuff at mine too, if you want.”
I smile, loving the offer, but shrug in rejection. “I probably won’t stay at your place much, so there’s no point.”
I haven’t stayed at Jared’s posh palace apartment yet. My flat is just a ten-minute bike ride from my work; his place is approximately thirty-five minutes. I’m not sure I even have the stamina to ride Bessy that far. It’s just easier for him to stay here. He drives; I don’t. Also, since he often leaves for work before I’m even awake, staying at his place is more of a hindrance than a help.
I am staying at his place tonight though for the first time, and I’m more than excited about it. Tonight, after the party at his parents’ house, he’s driving us and his brother home, so it makes sense for us to stay at his place rather than just dropping Theo off and then coming back here.
“Yeah, true.” He nods, seeming thoughtful, and then reaches into his bag, pulling out his wash bag and smiling devilishly at me. “I’m going to go find a spot for my stuff in the bathroom.”
I laugh at his eagerness and turn back to the mirror, applying last-minute swipes of lip gloss and an extra dot of concealer on the stress-related zit that sprouted today.
By the time we’re ready to leave and in the car on the way to his parents’ house in Ely, I’m a bundle of nerves. It takes around twenty minutes to get there by car, according to Jared, and I spend at least eighteen of them trying not to hyperventilate. I’ve met parents of a couple of boyfriends before but never a whole family in one go like this. Usually, I wouldn’t be bothered if they liked me or not, but I’ve never been so devastatingly in love with someone before. The old cliché of, What if they don’t like me? is running through my head nonstop. Jared’s parents are smart too; his mum is a chef at a high-end restaurant in Ely, and his dad is an award-winning structural engineer. They are bound to take one look at me, ask me what I do for a living, and decide I am in no way good enough for their son—and they’d be right too. I’m not.
Jared tries to calm me, saying soothing things and putting his hand on my bouncing knee; he also tries to point out pretty architecture and Ely Cathedral in a bid to distract me, but I’m too lost in my worry to concentrate.
When we pull up outside his family home, I look up at it and don’t want to get out of the car. My hands fiddle aimlessly. I pick at my manicured nails and cuticles, crunching nonstop on Jared’s car sweets he keeps in the dash even though they taste disgusting because they’re sugar-free.
Even in the quickly darkening evening light, I can see the house is beautiful. It’s double-fronted with red ivy crawling up the walls and real hardwood windows, not the UPVC stuff. It looks huge and is a far cry from the compact bungalow I grew up in. And the gardens … stunning.
Jared pulls into a sweeping double-aspect brick-weave driveway and parks off to one side outside a double garage.
I’m so out of my league here with these people. I feel nauseous, and I look over at Jared, silently begging him to read my mind and drive me straight home again. He reaches over and gently strokes my cheek as he smiles.
“Come on then, beautiful. Let’s get this over with. They’re going to adore you. Five minutes, and you’ll have them eating out of the palm of your hand.”
I raise one eyebrow, trying to appear confident. “You think it’ll take me five whole minutes?”
He laughs and climbs out of the car, heading to the boot. I follow suit, slipping on my black silk bomber jacket and smoothing my skirt, ominously looking up at the house as I step to his side. Jared moves my overnight bag to one side and picks up the gift-wrapped present he’s brought for his dad’s sixtieth birthday. He told me it is a limited-edition film cell from his dad’s favourite movie, Citizen Kane. As he picks it up, the tag flaps in the wind, and I catch sight of the writing. My heart stutters in my chest. The tag reads: To Dad. Happy birthday from us! Love, Jared and Amy. Us. That one little word gives me all the confidence I need to walk into the house with my head held high. Jared called us an us, and his toothbrush is nestled next to mine on my bathroom shelf. All is right in the world.
The front door is unlocked, so Jared lets himself in, guiding me along behind him. When we step into the house, my eyes dart around, taking everything in. It’s large, high-ceilinged, and decorated beautifully. Soft music plays from out the back, and Jared’s hand tightens on mine as he tugs me into the empty lounge.
“Wow,” I mutter, looking around in awe as we walk through the living room and towards a set of open patio doors leading into the garden beyond.
It’s like a show home. The inglenook fireplace is huge and has an old oak railway sleeper above it that matches the exposed ceiling timbers. My gaze zeroes in on the table that’s been pushed against the wall and is laden with buffet food. I make a mental note on its location for later once the plastic wrapping has been removed.
As we get to the back doors, I see people, lots of people, and my nerves are back again. Stevie Wonder’s “Superstition” plays softly in the background as I cling to Jared’s hand for dear life. He reassuringly squeezes back, and we step into the fray.
The garden is lavish and landscaped. Fairy lights have been strung across the fence panels, and gas patio heaters and firepits glow around sporadically, banishing the slight chill of the early November evening. Bowls of cocktails with little labels in front of them garnish the table next to stacks of glasses. There’s a table for gifts, and Jared adds ours to the pile.